


Our Dreams, and They are Made out of Real Things

by Emilaa



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Pancake making, based on the feeling that jack johnson songs give me, basically all my domestic fantasies, god so much fluff, kitchen dancing, klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 11:44:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18637459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilaa/pseuds/Emilaa
Summary: When they had first started dating, Lance began a list in his head. Every time they kissed, he would add something new about Keith that he fell in love with. He assumed that his little game wouldn’t last very long, that he would quickly be able to find every little thing about Keith Kogane that there was to love, and suddenly have no more room on his list.As he melts into Keith’s lips and buries a hand in his soft hair, as the Sunday morning sunlight pools around them and the smell of pancake batter fills the air, as he finds three more things to add on to the list, he realizes that this little game of his might never end.





	Our Dreams, and They are Made out of Real Things

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song Better Together by Jack Johnson
> 
> I'm not usually a fan of established relationships, but man, I was really feeling it with this one.

Lance has always loved Sunday mornings. It’s something his older sister Veronica used to tease him about when they were little.

“So every other morning feels the same except for Sundays?” She would laugh, but not in a cruel way, “What makes Sunday so special?”

Lance isn’t sure it’s something he’ll ever be able to explain. It’s just something in the way that the whole world seems to wake a little slower, a little sleepier. In the way the morning light filtering through the windows always seems a little warmer, a little brighter, the sunbeams with their floating dust motes just a little softer.

When he was little, Sunday mornings were the smell of his Mama’s cooking wafting up the stairs. They were elbows in his stomach and knees in his side as he piled on the couch with his siblings to watch cartoons on their clunky, little TV.

His Sunday mornings now are different of course, and yet, they’re somehow kind of the same.  
As he makes his way slowly down the stairs, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, the smell of pancakes drifts up to him from below. The sunlight filtering in from the windows curls around his fingers and settles in his hair, and the sound of humming floats to him from the direction of the kitchen.

A smile begins to curl the corners of his lips as he makes his way to the kitchen and quietly leans a shoulder against the doorway. On the other side of the room, Keith stands with a pancake batter covered whisk in one hand and a cookbook in the other. His tongue peeks out of his mouth slightly in concentration, and his hair sticks up in little tufts, the only sign that he had probably gotten out of bed just before Lance had. Well, that and the fact that the only thing he’s wearing besides his boxers is one of Lance’s old, oversized T-shirts.

Lance swallows heavily, something soft and warm fluttering around in his stomach, and suddenly he can’t stand it anymore. He pushes himself off the wall and makes his way softly over to Keith, pressing himself up against his back, he snakes one hand around Keith’s stomach and uses the other to swipe his finger along the whisk and pop the sweet batter into his mouth. Hooking his chin on Keith’s shoulder he hums low and sultry.

“Mmm damn Keith, you look hot when you’re trying to read a recipe.” He says as filthily as possible.

Keith turns in his arms and throws him a glare poisonous enough to wilt flowers, but Lance catches the beginning of a smile trying to sneak past.

“I will happily eat all these pancakes myself and make you find your own breakfast, Lance.”

Lance gasps and clutches his chest dramatically, “you wouldn’t really starve your own boyfriend would you Keith?”

Keith rolls his eyes but the smile finally blooms across his face and his expression softens.

“Come here,” he mumbles softly.

And god damn, Lance would find a way to give Keith the very stars in the sky if he asked for them like that.

When they had first started dating, Lance began a list in his head. Every time they kissed, he would add something new about Keith that he fell in love with. He assumed that his little game wouldn’t last very long, that he would quickly be able to find every little thing about Keith Kogane that there was to love, and suddenly have no more room on his list.

As he melts into Keith’s lips and buries a hand in his soft hair, as the Sunday morning sunlight pools around them and the smell of pancake batter fills the air, as he finds three more things to add on to the list, he realizes that this little game of his might never end. 

Keith eventually pushes away, but only slightly. Lance smirks as he catches the red of his lips and the blush dusted high up on his cheeks.

“Okay Lance, seriously, this is going to turn into lunch soon if you don’t let me finish.” He says against his mouth.

“I don’t mind,” he replies at the exact moment his stomach decides to let out a pathetic growl.

Keith looks pointedly at him.

“Fine,” he relents backing away slightly before pointing a finger into Keith’s face, “But! We are picking up exactly where we left off after breakfast.”

Keith raises an eyebrow at him and smirks, throwing his hands up like a surrender he says, “I have no complaints about that plan.”

Even after all these years, Lance’s knees still get weak when Keith looks at him like that.

As Keith finishes mixing batter, Lance busies himself scrolling through the music he has on his phone. He smiles as he finds the song he was looking for and plugs his phone into the speaker.

Keith glances over as the first few notes of the song drift lazily into the air.

 _Can’t you see that it’s just rainin’  
Ain’t no need to go outside_

“Really Lance?” He smirks.

“What? It fits,” Lance laughs as he begins to twirl around the kitchen.

_But baby  
You hardly even notice_

Keith seems to forget his pancakes for the moment, turning and leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches Lance in amusement.

 _When I try to show you this_  
_Song is meant to keep you_  
_Doin’ what you’re supposed to_

Lance twirls around again until he’s facing Keith and holds out a hand in invitation. Keith simply tilts his head and widens his eyes in mock confusion.

_Wakin’ up too early  
Maybe we could sleep in_

Lance rolls his eyes and snakes his hand out, grabbing onto Keith’s wrist and pulling him closer. Keith relents easily, throwing his head back with a laugh that Lance would burn buildings for, and allows himself to be twirled around the kitchen.

_Make you banana pancakes  
Pretend like it’s the weekend now_

The kitchen is warm and bright as they twirl around, a warmth and a brightness he thought perhaps only existed in his sun-washed memories of childhood, but Keith has always had a habit of proving him wrong.

_We could pretend it all the time  
Can’t you see that it’s just rainin’_

As they sway past the kitchen counter, Lance throws Keith a look dripping with mirth before sticking his hand into the bag of flour and smearing a powdery white streak straight across Keith’s cheek.

The look that Keith gives him back is one of such utter betrayal that Lance throws his head back in laughter. He raises his hand to cover his mouth-- an ugly habit he picked up during an ugly time in his life. A time before sun-bathed kitchens and sun-bathed boys covered in flour.

Before his hand makes it fully to his mouth to hide his laugh, Keith reaches out and twines his fingers between Lance’s. His expression has melted into something incredibly soft. His eyes search Lance’s gently.

“You don’t have to do that anymore Lance,” He says softly.

And suddenly Lance is thrown back to their Freshman year of College, when they only knew each other through passing glances in hallways, and glares in lecture halls. The year that Lance tried to drown all his anxieties in self-loathing, the year Keith was trying to drown all his abandonment issues in alcohol and fist-fights.

The year before they realized that their problems seemed so much less looming with their legs tangled together beneath the sheets, and the taste of each other on their lips.

“Yeah,” Lance says quietly and swallows as Keith brings his hand softly to his mouth, “I forget sometimes, old habits die hard I guess.”

The song in the background has changed to something softer and Keith takes the opportunity to pull Lance to his chest. Lance buries his nose into Keith’s neck.

“It’s okay, I forget sometimes too,” Keith mumbles against his neck softly.

“Yeah?” Lance asks.

“Yeah,” Keith sighs back, “I still have nightmares sometimes actually, but not as bad as I used to.”

Lance pulls back slightly to look into Keith’s eyes, “why don’t you ever wake me up when you have them anymore?”

Keith’s eyes suddenly look everywhere but at Lance, and a blush softly dusts his cheeks.

“Because when I wake up, you’re next to me, and that makes everything feel okay again.”

A feeling bubbles up in Lance’s chest that feels almost too big to stand.

He lifts Keith’s chin gently with his fingers until Keith finally meets his eyes again. As he softly tucks a stray lock of Keith’s hair behind his ears he says, “god, Keith, I love you.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it, not by far, but it feels different this time, bigger maybe. It feels like he’s promising Keith a million things all at once. A promise of more sun-drenched Sunday mornings, a promise of more flour-stained cheeks, a promise of more clumsy, barefoot dances across kitchen tiles. The kind of promises that require two pinkies to show you’re serious, the cross your heart and hope to die kind.

“I know you do,” Keith says as he pulls Lance to his lips once more.

“You asshole,” Lance laughs against his mouth.

He can feel the shape of Keith’s smile against his lips.

 _The way his smile feels against my mouth, the taste of his laugh on my tongue._ Lance silently adds on to his never-ending list.

They end up having burnt pancakes for lunch, but as the bright morning light drifts to the golden hue’s of afternoon, with pancake batter stuck in his hair, and a streak of flour across his forehead, with the minty taste of Keith’s toothpaste lingering on his tongue, he can’t quite find it in himself to mind.

**Author's Note:**

> The song that Lance plays is Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson :)  
> Jack Johnson songs always remind me of the feeling of summers when I was little, (like, warm and happy and innocent, if that makes sense?) So I really hope I was able to capture at least a little bit of that essense in this fic  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!  
> (you can find me on tumblr @watermelonhiccups)


End file.
